


The Apex of a Bad Decision

by secretsoup



Category: Outer Wilds (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, Other, POV Second Person, formative childhood experiences, well.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsoup/pseuds/secretsoup
Summary: "There's something down there," you say, as afternoon light catches something metallic in the subterranean caves, something unknown flashes like the sun on the scales of the silver fish that swim in the river outside the crater."Gabbro says that before Slate made the big rockets, they used the geysers to help launch the first ships. We were too little to remember. Lots of the first ships didn't make it. The water came up and just blew them apart.""Gabbro says a lot of things. Gabbro says there are trees that move around when you're not looking at them.""Gabbro's going to be a real astronaut soon," Hal says, and you can feel their forehead wrinkle in doubt. Gabbro is the best at stories, but they're also the best at tricks and pranks, so it's a tough call which of you is more right.You both fall into thoughtful silence, and if you squint against the dark and the deep you can kind of identify the silver something as a fuel canister, or maybe a tin of salted fish. But that might just as well be regular old garbage from when the grown ups stay up too late and drink too much, and not the remains of a broken rocket that couldn't make it into space.It's a thought worth thinking about, though.
Relationships: Player Character/Hal (Outer Wilds)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94





	The Apex of a Bad Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Liberties taken. Don't even worry about it.

There is a constellation that can be spotted over geyser mountain on early summer evenings just after sunset by the name of Clay. The story goes that Clay was the first hearthian in space, long before the space program existed, by way of accidental geyser launch. Some versions of the story favor Clay as a brave explorer and an example of Hearthian ideals: curious, courageous, resilient, resourceful. Others interpret Clay as foolish and a strong case against spelunking while drunk. Whether or not Clay actually ever existed, the story serves as a simultaneous inspiration and cautionary tale to your people, regardless.

  
  
  


You and Hal lean over the geyser in the center of the village. It's a game, to hold each other up as you balance on the slippery rocks, tip-toe in too-big hand-me-down boots, foreheads touching and forearms clasped, waiting for the water to come, and to lean back on your heels, hands held, out of the way before it catches you in the face. It's the smallest of the geysers, so when you do get caught it does little more than drench you and earn you a scolding from the adults for your mischief, but it's fun anyhow.

"There's something down there," you say, as afternoon light catches something metallic in the subterranean caves, something unknown flashes like the sun on the scales of the silver fish that swim in the river outside the crater.

"Gabbro says that before Slate made the big rockets, they used the geysers to help launch the first ships." Hal adjusts their hold on your sleeves. "We were too little to remember. Lots of the first ships didn't make it. The water came up and just blew them apart."

"Gabbro says a lot of things. Gabbro says there are trees that move around when you're not looking at them."

"Gabbro's going to be a real astronaut soon," Hal says, and you can feel their forehead wrinkle in doubt where it presses against yours. They won't outright contradict you, but Hal definitely defers to the grown-ups more than you do. Hal does things like go to bed right at lights out and wait patiently for their turn in conversation. Gabbro is the best at stories, but they're also the best at tricks and pranks, so it's a tough call which of you is more right.

You both fall into thoughtful silence, and if you squint against the dark and the deep you can kind of identify the silver something as a fuel canister, or maybe a tin of salted fish. But that might just as well be regular old garbage from when the grown ups stay up too late and drink too much, and not the remains of a broken rocket that couldn't make it into space. 

It's a thought worth thinking about, though.

  
  
  


"Oh, yeah," says Slate, armpits deep in the wood and metal shell of the thing that will be Gabbro's ship. "Sure. Started with Feldspar in a barrel with a rope tied round it. Graduated to the first ships. That was hit and miss though. Geysers were too unpredictable, ships were too... uh, let's just say they were little more than brainstorms held together with spit and a prayer."

"Told you," says Hal.

"Did Feldspar really go to space in a barrel?" you ask, enchanted.

"Eh. It was a starting point. A springboard. Gotta get the bad ideas out of the way for the good ideas to be found."

"What about Clay?" asks Hal.

"Clay's not _real_ , that's just a story they us tell to keep us from playing in the geysers," you counter. If Clay were real, surely there'd be an exhibit dedicated to them in the museum.

"And a fat lot of good it does," says Slate, giving you a good side-eye. You grin back, cocky, gap-toothed and fearless. "I see you two playing in that geyser. Better knock it off before someone with a better sense of self-preservation than I have catches you at it and actually makes you stop."

"You just said it didn't work!"

"I said it was a bad idea, not that it didn't work."

"They only do it as an excuse to hold hands anyway," Marl says from nearby, elbow deep in a can of mallows.

"It's just a game," you say, not really paying attention to Marl, or the way Hal pulls their hat down over their face. Your full attention is still on Slate. "What do you mean?"

"What?"

"Did it work or didn't it? You never said."

Slate finally raises their head from their work and fixes you with a long, level _look_ , the kind a smarter child might recognize as a challenge and back down from, but you don't have the good sense to know when to take a hint. You want to _know_ , and Slate won't give you an answer. 

"Go play," Slate finally says, and you get the feeling you've won something here today, but you don't know what. "You too, Marl, and stop eating my marshmallows."

Marl grumbles and crams a final fistful into their mouth.

"Fine," they say, cheeks puffed out, "but I'm not playing the dumb hand-holding game."

"That's not the _point_ of the game," Hal tries to explain, exasperated, but Marl is already proposing recruiting Riebeck for a game of aliens and explorers in the forests outside the crater.

  
  
  
  


"Let's play in the one up the cliff," you say, days later, when it's just you and Hal again, "It's secret-er."

Hal hesitates, probably because in addition to being more secret, the geyser up the cliff is a little bigger, and a little scarier, and dangerously close to the pocket of ghost matter, but in the end they agree.

You give Hal a leg up the ledge and climb up after them, jump up on the wet rocks, and do a sloppy balance act around the perimeter of the geyser. 

"Think there's anything in the bottom of this one?" You lean over, trying to get a good look.

Hal pushes in as well, head against yours. "I think they're all connected, so, probably maybe."

"Probably maybe," you repeat, grinning.

"Yeah, probably maybe, that's what I said."

"Slate didn't say they _didn't_ use they geysers to go into space with." You crane your head up to look at the sky, and Hal's hold on your hands tightens in the absence of your forehead to prop against.

"Careful," they caution, "Don't fall."

Telltale rumbling beneath the surface pulls your attention back to the geyser.

You didn't plan it, by the way.

"Get ready. One…"

Well, maybe a little bit. You'd considered it, distractedly, watching Clay twinkle into sight over the mountain as the summer sun sets, the abstract way you think about going on any _other_ adventure. But not in any practical sense. You didn't think it through. Consequences are for grown-ups.

"Two…"

This will be an ongoing problem with you, in the years to come.

Hal says _three_ and leans back, the way they're supposed to. They way you've done dozens of times before.

And you ...well.

You let Hal pull you into the path of the geyser.

Steam and water hisses and roars, fills your eyes and mouth and ears. You're ripped free of Hal's hands, and, unanchored, you go twirling ass over teakettle into the sky. The village drops beneath you, Hal shrinks until they could fit in the palm of your hand, the cabins like little stacked tins of salt fish and the observatory a mallow-can propped up on sticks. Over the edge of the crater, the horizon curls, green and lush, to hug everything you know, and through the sun-sparkled stars of water spray you see ...everything.

There is a moment, at the apex of your bad decision, that you are weightless. You hang between the protective cradle of your home planet and the whole black, beautiful universe with nothing but the thin blue-white ribbon of Timber Hearth's atmosphere to sustain you. You could skim the Attlerock with your fingers, kick through the stars, ankle deep, like sunlight reflecting off the creek where you play Aliens and Explorers with Marl and Riebeck, pluck the sun out of the sky like a ripe agate melon and sink your teeth into it. Maybe you've done it! You're so small and light, so much smaller than even Feldspar in a barrel, so of course you did it! First hatchling in space! You'll get a plaque in the museum, maybe! 

Except,

A big joyous laugh bubbles up inside you, but when it leaves your mouth it's nothing but a breathless gasp. The air is thin here, unsurvivable, 

and also,

Gravity plucks at the back of your shirt.

 _Not yet, hatchling_ , it says, and yanks you back home.

 _I wasn't done looking_ , you think, dizzy and desperate, not once considering what might happen to you upon reentry. You remember the last time Feldspar came home in only half a ship, splintering wood and twisted metal, screaming over the crater low enough to shower sparks that burned little pinholes in Spinel's favorite fishing hat, to nearly explode into toothpicks in the forest. _Will that happen to me?_ you don't think, because you don't entertain for a moment that you won't live long enough to kiss the stars properly. What you remember most is sitting wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Feldspar shared their story at the village campfire, and that it was only a matter of weeks before Slate had them in the sky again.

 _I'll be back,_ you think, as the wind whips your ears and tears stream from your eyes. _You better be ready for me._

It's a while before you remember anything else.

  
  
  


The village elders dig you out of the splintered remains of a storage shed. Hearthians are tough by nature, with thick skin and sturdy, strong bones, but at the end of the day, you're still organic. Sometimes even small tumbles can be disastrous if you land the wrong way.

By all accounts, you should be dead. They'll tell you later if you had landed a few feet in any other direction, you would be, but the roof of the shed had been in the slow process of rotting through and had been temporarily covered with a canvas tarp and a thatch of pine boughs to keep the elements out until someone got around to repairing it. This alone is what saves you.

There's a whole lot of yelling happening, and your head hurts and you can taste blood in your mouth.

You sit up and spit a tooth into your hand, as casually as though you took an elbow to the face during a wrestling bout with Marl instead of falling from orbit.

Gossan and Slate and Rutile and Tektite have stopped their shouting and fussing and are looking at you with a medley of expressions ranging from horrified to impressed to relieved to mortified.

"It worked," you say to Slate. "Almost."

Gossan wheels on Slate. " _What worked?!_ Did you put them up to this?!"

"I _told_ 'em they're not supposed to play in the geysers," Slate says in their Slate way, shrugging. "The hatchlings were asking about how we used to use the geysers for launch, so I told 'em-"

"You could have _lied_ ," bellows Gossan, drawing a larger crowd. "They could have been hurt!

"I'm not going to _lie_ to the kid," Slate says back, growing indignant and irritated. "That's not how any of this works. No one _learns_ by getting lied to!"

"They could have _died!"_

"I'm fine," you try to say, but no one seems to hear you.

"So could any of us! We know the risks!" Slate points a finger at Gabbro, who has crept up beside you to see what all the ruckus is about. "Gabbro launches next week! They could die, too!"

"Gabbro's been trained, Gabbro's not a hatchling," Gossan counters.

"Whoa, leave me out of this," Gabbro says, hands up. To Slate: "Also, thanks for the vote of confidence, boss."

 _I didn't tell them anything_ , Slate tries to say and Gossan says, _that's the problem, you irresponsible maniac_ , and Rutile is trying to get them both to shut up because once they start going at it, there's no stopping them, and as you're struggling to your feet, Porphy comes at you with a rag and a bottle of something foul-smelling to prod your limbs for broken bones and to see if anything needs disinfected, but you're fine, really, you just wish someone would _listen_ to you. Overwhelmed and fed up, you throw your head back, open your mouth and yell, at the top of your lungs:

 **"I WANT TO GO TO SPACE!!!"**

It echoes through the crater. Everyone finally stops arguing and looks at you, eyes wide and jaws slack. 

"Hell yeah, squirt," Gabbro says from the corner of their mouth and gives you a gentle knock in the shoulder with their fist.

" _You_ ," Rutile says firmly, "are _grounded_."

" _Grounded!?"_ you wail, horrified. Grounded? Even the name of it is terrible. You can't be grounded, you just _flew!_

"Gabbro, take them to the kids' cabin. The grown-ups have to talk."

"Sorry, pal." Gabbro offers to take your hand, but you're too old and stubborn to let them, so you stuff your hands under your arms and allow yourself to be escorted back to your cabin, sulking all the while.

The curtains twitch in the window of the kid's cabin; Marl and Riebeck turn from the window to the door as Gabbro escorts you inside. Little Moraine plays with an antique space-suited Nomai doll on the braided rug on the floor, oblivious to your accomplishment and the historical value of their toy. 

"Better sit tight and stay out of trouble," Gabbro says. Then to Riebeck, in charge of the cabin by virtue of being eldest by several years and generally more cautious and responsible than the rest of you combined: "Grounded. I suppose we'll get the details later."

Gabbro closes the door behind them.

"That's was terrifying," Riebeck says, wide-eyed and breathless.

"That was _incredible_ ," Marl hoots, "How are you not _dead_ ? I thought for _sure_ you were gonna go splat."

"Oh dear," Riebeck worries.

"Or you could have been like, impaled on a pine tree."

"Please," begs Riebeck, turning kind of gray.

"I'm fine! Just lost a tooth. See?" You grin and show them.

(It will be a sore spot a few months from now, that you fell from orbit and only lost a tooth when Marl falls from the big village tree and breaks their arm in two places.)

"You're okay."

Hal's voice, hoarse, from their bunk. Marl and Riebeck both quiet and exchange a nervous look.

"It was _amazing_ ," you say, stupid and oblivious, as Hal hops down and comes to check on you. "I flew! I went so high you all looked like little bugs. I could see the mountain, and the crater on the Attlerock, and-"

Hal reels back and punches you square in the nose.

Marl shouts and Riebeck starts sputtering and you stumble back and trip over Moraine, who starts wailing. Riebeck scoops them up and bails to find an adult; Marl hesitates for a moment before deciding this isn't fun anymore and follows.

Hal stands over you.

"You're not even sorry, are you?"

You aren't really, is the thing. You're sorry you got in trouble, and that you accidentally involved Hal, you still aren't sorry you did it. 

Because Hal is smart, they know it.

Hal steps over you to join the others. 

You're grounded, so you can't even follow.

  
  
  


You're three days into your week long sentence and bored out of your mind. Rutile has been in to have a Very Serious Conversation with you about reckless behavior, but it doesn't stick. It's not until they pivot from _you could have been hurt_ to _you could have hurt someone else_ that you start to feel remorse. You risk a side-eye at Hal across the cabin, who still isn't speaking to you, but they very pointedly don't look in your direction. Usually when you do something foolish, Hal forgives you right away, but this is new. It's something you'll have to think about.

You're working up a good sulk by resting your chin on the window sill and looking good and pathetic while watching everyone one else come and go as they please, when Feldspar comes back from space. Everyone leaps into action and busies themselves putting out the reentry fires and accounting for and unloading the salvage they've brought back. Normally you’d be out there too, on Feldpar’s heels, circling and asking a hundred questions before they placate you with a cool rock or bit of pottery to get you to give them some space. This time they’ve brought back a bunch of old space garbage, old Nomai tech that will be repurposed by Slate, and a few bits and pieces of masonry that may or may not be of use to Hornfels. 

Feldspar always brings back souvenirs for the hatchlings. Reibeck gets a broken piece of Nomai dishware carved and painted with geometric decoration; Marl, a hunk of alien wood that has grown in and out of itself like a figure eight instead of straight and tall like a Timber Hearth pine; Moraine, a pair of what might have been a child’s building blocks, before they were cracked and broken. Hal gets something you haven't seen before, a broken piece of carved stone the approximate length of your forearm. You watch as Feldspar bends down to trace a line of blue glyphs up the side of it with their finger, then claps Hal on the shoulder so hard Hal sinks under the weight of it. Hal is so entranced they don't even seem to care.

You press your face to the glass so close your breath fogs. 

Feldspar and Hal seem to have a short conversation you can't hear that ends in Hal gesturing in the direction of the kids' cabin, but before Feldspar can follow up, Gabbro saunters up and pulls them away, leaving Hal standing alone holding the weird long rock. They look up and meet your eyes through the window, hesitate, then wander away.

Everyone else forgets about you in the commotion, until late evening when Riebeck brings you dinner.

"What'd you get from Feldspar?" you ask, desperate not to be left alone again. 

Riebeck's wide face beams in delight. "I think it's some kind of pot, or dish or something? I wonder what they ate? How they cooked? What did it taste like? Wouldn't it be neat if we could replicate a Nomai recipe-"

Riebeck carries on like this for some time while you work on dinner--whatever the nomai ate, you hope it was more interesting than fish stew, for Riebeck's sake--when Feldspar interrupts. They cut an imposing figure in the doorway, backlit by lanterns and campfire, short but solid and confident.

You kind of want to be Feldspar when you grow up.

"What's the dirt, hatchlings? It's story time."

You and Riebeck exchange a look. "Grounded," you mutter. "I'm not allowed to go to the campfire."

"Well that doesn't sound right. It's tradition for an astronaut to spin us a yarn when they come home from an adventure." They lean against the door frame, arms crossed, and your brain swims with the prospect at being even half as cool as Feldspar, one day. 

"I'm not an astronaut?" You examine your empty bowl, sheepish.

Feldspar cocks their head and sizes you up. "You went to space didn't you? I heard about it."

"I didn't really. I flew, but it wasn't really...I didn't go high enough. Not to space. Though I guess I'd be dead if I had. That's what they keep telling me, anyway"

"I don't know, sounds like an adventure to me. Seems to me you owe us a tale. Be honest, you were just waiting for me to come home, huh?"

You exchange another look with Riebeck, who shrugs. Riebeck might be mostly in charge of the kids' cabin, but they're still mostly a kid, at least until they move out. Feldspar's a grown up, and if Feldspar says you get to go to story time, then you'll take their word for it.

"Yes," you say, vibrating, "definitely."

You and Riebeck push your way out to the campfire, Feldspar following behind. You still half expect Gossan or Rutile to give you grief about being out of the cabin, but when you search their faces, neither of them seem to mind.

You sit down on a log next to Hal without even thinking about it. 

"I've got some good ones," Feldspar says, drawing from a flask before passing it over to Hornfels. "But I heard I missed an adventure right here at home." They nod in your direction, and you stand up like you would during lessons.

"Uhm. Three days ago, I tried to go into space."

Everyone is looking at you, and it's exhilarating.

"Slate said you used to use the geysers in space experiments, to try and launch stuff into orbit, but that it didn't always work, or it didn't work very well. But we have the story about Clay, and I figured, I'm lighter than a ship, so maybe I could do like Clay did. So when me and Hal were playing in the geyser--which, I know we're not supposed to, but we're usually real careful-- I decided, um. I decided I wanted to see if it would work."

You turn and look down at Hal. "I'm sorry I did that. You could have got hurt too, and that wasn't right."

Hal sighs. "You hurt my _feelings_ , dummy. I thought you were dead and I thought it was my fault. It was _scary_. Geez."

"Oh," you say, blinking. This isn't an angle you had considered at all. "Oh. I. I'm sorry about that, too. I didn't...I shouldn't have done that. Can we be friends again?"

Hal considers. "....Yeah."

You nod. "Good, cus I missed you."

Hal gets up and hugs you.

Someone who might be Porphy says "Awww," and someone else who is definitely Marl says, "Gross, get to the good part!"

Hal pulls their hat down over their face and sits down. You feel like gravity has lessened a little, for the first time since you came back down, finally.

You tell them in your imperfect and limited child's vocabulary what you saw, and what you felt, and what you thought as you very nearly almost died in the vacuum of space. You try to explain the color of the sky where the atmosphere of Timber Hearth dissolves into the inky black of space, how small and fragile your planet seemed beneath you, how many more stars there were than you imagined and how they seemed so close you could scoop them by the handfuls and stuff them in your pockets like pretty stones from the riverbed. You tell them about not being able to breathe, and falling, but how it wasn't even scary at all, just frustrating, because you weren't done looking and it wasn't enough time. No one interrupts, or scolds you, or tells you it was foolish and dangerous. They finally listen.

When you think you're done, you scan the faces of of your friends and neighbors. Feldspar is smiling at you, and you see them give Hornfels a not-at-all subtle elbow. Hornfels looks at Slate, who is chewing a stick thoughtfully. Slate looks to Gossan, who very stubbornly does not acknowledge them at all, but sighs deeply and with resignation. 

"Good work, kiddo." Feldspar claps you on the shoulder with their trademark knee-buckling enthusiasm, and produces a small piece of dull purple crystal from the pocket of their bomber jacket.

"From Brittle Hollow. Not entirely sure what it does, but maybe you can figure it out."

" _Cool_."

You sit back down next to Hal and together you marvel over your new treasure as Feldspar takes the stage, spinning a yarn about a moon that spits fire and a planet with darkness at its core. Eventually, you and the other kids will be sent off to bed, while the grown ups stay up to drink and tell darker stories, not yet for your ears.

In the morning, Feldspar and Hornfels will meet with you and let you know that, when you're old enough, you can start training to be an astronaut.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


You're an astronaut, or will be in the morning. 

Tradition calls for a pre-launch night spent under the stars for some reason, though there will be no shortage of stars from here on out. 

Honestly you were never much one for tradition.

You are, technically, under the stars, but you're in the quantum grove with Hal, halfway through a bottle of sap wine, and having maybe a small amount of trouble standing upright. The trees keep shuffling around when your back is turned and the ghostly shard is following-not-following you around and it's incredibly disorienting.

"Tell me honestly, did you think I'd live long enough to make it?" It's hard not to lean on Hal right now. Hal has always been easy to lean on. You've been leaning on Hal one way or another your entire life. Right now it's mostly in a literal, physical sense, arm slung around their waist and heads knocked together.

"You did give me a few scares," Hal admits. "But you're too stubborn to let a few minor bodily traumas get you down."

"Gonna take your translator into space, I promised.”

“ _Our_ translator,” Hal incorrectly corrects. 

"Mmm." You didn't do much more than get in their way and distract them for pretty much the entire process. It's just that you're inseparable, and have been for almost forever. Anything that's yours is theirs, and vice versa, even if it isn't technically true. It's actually a little scary to think how far apart you'll be, starting tomorrow, though you'd never admit it. It makes you feel big, complicated things about familiarity and home and nostalgia you aren't quite in the right frame of mind to examine at the moment. 

"Geyser game," you say instead, taking Hal by the hand and leading them to the only geyser in the grove.

"I think we're a little old for that now," Hal says with a tipsy chuckle. The contents of the bottle sloshes thick and syrupy as you try to balance on the slippery rocks at the edge of the geyser. Hal grabs you by the front of your shirt to hold you steady, and your foreheads meet with a clumsy bump. You have to crouch a little now, having outgrown them by several inches, and there's really no need to hold hands anymore. You're both big enough that it's no longer a challenge. You sling the arm with the bottle sloppily over Hal's shoulder anyhow.

Warm air drifts up from the geyser, rumbling deep under your feet. Hal's breath stinks of wine and fish and mallows, and it smells like home. You've been holding yours, having forgotten to breathe.

"Close your eyes," you say, and Hal obliges. "Open." The geyser has shifted across the grove, taking you both with it, and the shard, looming and silent and still too creepy, has appeared directly behind you. Hal yelps and teeters, but you have a hold on them, so at least if they fall, you go with them.

They laugh off the adrenaline, and carefully put their arms lightly around your waist as you take another pull or three from the bottle. The wine weighs down your arms, your head, your eyelids. For this moment, you are quantum, everywhere at once.

"Be safe," Hal says quietly. "I know that's, y'know. It is what it is. But I worry about you."

"Don't be ridiculous." _Ridiculoush_ , the wine says, but you soldier on, "I'll be fine. I bounce. I've been training for this since we were hatchlings, remember? I'm gonna bring you back so mush. Much. So much. Stories. Rocks. Every word they ever wrote. Whatever you want."

"Just come home in one piece."

It's tender, even for Hal, who is softer than most. Hal, who let you pretend that you helped with the translator when it was always their project, ever since Feldspar brought them home the first broken scroll. They've always been the brains of the outfit. The smart one, the cautious one, to your dumb, foolhardy space jock.

Your best friend always, until the end of time.

You roll your forehead against theirs, bumping noses. Hal's arms shift around your waist, palms flat, warm through your shirt. You breathe, and they breathe, salt fish and sugar and thick wine like pine tar and medicine between you.

It's not the wine making you feel this way, it's a thing you've been thinking about for ages now, every night you've spent slumped against their back while they bend over their notes and tools and funny electrified rocks, but it's making it easier to feel it than it ever has been before. 

You tilt the last half inch, and Hal stops you from collapsing the possibilities.

"See, this is what I'm worried about."

Your eyelids flutter open.

"What," you say, not a question so much as a statement of confusion. 

"Impulse control. When you do things without thinking, people get hurt."

"I don't... What?"

Suddenly it feels less intimate, less romantic, less balancing on the edge of something beautiful and more like a long suffering soul helping a drunk, irresponsible friend home safely so they don't fall into a geyser and break their neck. You are the drunk, irresponsible friend, and Hal has been doing their level best to keep you out of trouble for so, so long.

They look at you, and they look so _tired_.

And sad.

Your stomach flops.

"I'm not drunk," you say, and then, because Hal is far smarter than you will ever be, "I'm a _little_ drunk. But I really, I really." You swallow, hard. "I really...Hal. _Halite_."

Hal's tired look softens.

"I won't let you make me a space-widow," they say, bunching their fists in the back of your shirt. "Come home from your first launch safe, and we can talk about it."

In the beat between the words and your syrupy brain trying to make sense of them, the earth belches steam and water; the geyser explodes in your face. It catches you under the chin, lifts you off your feet, and knocks you on your ass. Your arm is still hooked around Hal's neck, so they come with you, a clumsy tangle of awkward limbs and sodden clothes. The bottle bounces and rolls, then quantums away to be forgotten.

"Rejection," you moan, rolling free to land on your back in a pond of hot spring water, hand to your heart. Clouds of fireflies flit in and out of sight, mingling with the stars at the edge of your vision.

"Not rejection," Hal says, beside you. "You bounce, remember? You'll be back, safe and sound. And then we can….talk. About...us." They turn their face away, embarrassed. "Consider it incentive to not do every idiot, impulsive thing that pops into your head. I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer."

"Ah…" You throw an arm across your eyes. "You can't just say stuff like that."

Hal snorts. Then, after a moment, a confession: "Marl was right about the geyser game, you know. It was always just an excuse to hold your hands."

"I'm not very smart," you say, lowering your arm to look at them.

"No," Hal says, fondly and without a trace of apology. "You really aren't."

You watch the stars wheel overhead, side by side with your best friend. This time tomorrow, you'll be up there, alone. It's crazy to think about. You've waited so _long_.

"We should probably get you back to Slate," Hal says without conviction.

"No….Not yet." 

You're excited to launch, for all the hard work to pay off, but it's your last night on Timber Hearth for a while, and you're in no hurry for it to end.

  
  
  
  


It's the morning of your launch, but you haven't slept in days. Well, you have, t _echnically_ , but it doesn't feel like it when your brain is packed full of memories of events you never _technically_ experienced.

You trudge up to the observatory for the final time, probably ever. At the top of the path, Hal waits for you, admiring the Nomai statue. Hornfels has it mounted in such a way that its three copper eyes don’t even look at you, but _over_ you, over the edge of the crater, and off into space somewhere.

You try not to look at it, either.

"You look nervous. Don't worry, you got this." Hal gives you an affectionate knock in the arm with their fist. They are so proud of you, and so excited for you. "What are you going to do first? Go see Esker? Check on Riebeck? Meet Gabbro on Giant's Deep? They'll be happy to see you, I bet."

It's not a matter of what you'll be doing first, but what you've saved for last. For the first time in your life, you've made a decision you have to think long and hard about. You feel so hollow and far away, like you're looking at Hal through fogged glass. When you speak, your voice sounds like it does on a bad recording.

"Ash twin."

Hal hesitates. "Huh. Odd choice, but okay, you're the pilot! Say hi to Chert for us." Then, with a sideways glance to see if Hornfels is paying attention and a shy, almost imperceptible touch of your arm, "Come home safe, okay? Don't forget."

You remember that look Slate gave you all those years ago, when they didn't want to lie to you, to crush your curiosity, but knew telling you the truth would lead to nothing good. Weighing the consequences. You understand now better than ever why they said nothing, and choose your words carefully.

Your mouth is full of sand.

"I won't."

**Author's Note:**

> yall really made me post the first overtly shippy work on the outer wilds tag, huh
> 
> player character's name is shale, even if they're never named
> 
> thanks to partlycloudyskies for the beta and the solanum fan club discord for the moral support


End file.
